My daughters remained surprisingly silent about the gossip. Joon-lee may have been too young and embarrassed to repeat the rumors to me, and I didn’t want to have a conversation about sex with her just yet, but I finally asked Min-lee if they were true.
“Oh, Mother,” she said, “you’ll always think the worst of Yo-chan and his family. He and Wan-soon were friends. The three of us just wanted to help Joon-lee learn to ride a bike. That’s all.”
I didn’t know if I could believe her or not.
* * *
The day arrived when Teacher Oh took Joon-lee on a bus to Jeju City for the competition. They returned three days later with wonderful news. Joon-lee had won. I bought her a bicycle, thinking it would prevent any future meetings between her and Yo-chan. This is not to say I didn’t have misgivings. “You really are going to get a big butt,” I warned her, but she just laughed and pedaled away. Then, as she disappeared around the corner, I realized the terrible mistake I’d made. She might not need Yo-chan to give her lessons any longer, but now the two of them could ride together and I couldn’t do anything about it except rely on the gossip of others to tell me what my daughter was up to.
A week after the competition, Teacher Oh paid another visit. “A happy day!” he announced. “Joon-lee has been selected to go to Jeju City Middle School.”
I should have been joyous, but my first thought was practical. “It’s too far for her to travel back and forth every day.”
“No travel will be required. She will board with a family.”
This was even worse. “She’s only twelve,” I objected. “I don’t want us to be separated.”
Teacher Oh jutted his chin. “But all haenyeo daughters go out for leaving-home water-work. Even you—”
“But I didn’t leave Hado until I was seventeen. And I had to go.”
“If Joon-lee does this,” he went on, almost as though he’d practiced his response, “she might be able to go to college or university on the mainland. Or”—his eyes gleamed—“maybe even to Japan.”
But he’d gotten ahead of himself.
“How can she leave Jeju for the mainland, let alone leave the country?” I asked. “The authorities would never allow it.”
“Why? Because your husband was a teacher?”
“We’re stained by the guilt-by-association system. We—”
“I prefer to think the authorities know you now as a haenyeo chief. Your mother and mother-in-law were also haenyeo chiefs. Maybe that will be a help. And it’s not as though she’s a boy who could cause trouble in the future. I’ve heard of many cases where sons are not admitted to school or military academies, while daughters have gone to the mainland for university and jobs.”
“Maybe that’s true for some, but I lost three family members during the Four-Three Incident.”
“I don’t think you understand,” he said. “The higher-ups have already decided to look the other way in Joon-lee’s case.”
This took me aback. “How can that be?”
He shrugged. “She’s exceptionally smart. Maybe Dr. Park put in a good word . . .”
But now he was telling me another story. I spoke bluntly. “Which is it? The higher-ups will look the other way or Dr. Park helped? Or she’s smart enough? Or she’s not a boy?”
“Does it matter? She’s been given an opportunity that few will ever receive.” He scrutinized my face before adding, “Best of all, you won’t have to worry about her bicycling in the olles with a boy who’s older than she is.”
He didn’t need to say another word.
* * *
We packed Joon-lee’s clothes and her few books. The entire family walked her to the bus stop, where Teacher Oh waited for us. The road was busy with people walking to market. Women wore white scarves and carried baskets over their arms. Men had their pants rolled up to midcalf and horsehair hats pulled down over their ears. One farmer led a donkey, whose back was piled high with bulging burlap bags. As far down the road as I could see in either direction, there wasn’t a car, truck, or bus. Do-saeng, Min-lee, and I couldn’t stop weeping. My father, brother, and son stood off to the side, trying to camouflage their feelings. Joon-lee wasn’t sad, though. She was excited.
“I’ll come home for every holiday and festival,” she babbled breathlessly. “I’ll ask if I can come when Dr. Park next returns. I promise to work hard.”
I saw so much of her father in her—her love of family combined with an eagerness to learn, and her sense of responsibility combined with a desire to try new things—but when the bus came into view, her eyes finally got misty.
“You’re a brave girl,” I said, but inside my heart was aching. “We’re all proud of you. Do well. We’ll all be here when you come home.”
The bus ground to a stop, and the door swung open. As dust swirled around us, I brought my daughter into my arms, and we held each other tight.
“I’m not going to wait here forever,” the bus driver shouted out the door. “I have a schedule to keep.”
Teacher Oh picked up Joon-lee’s satchel. “I’ll make sure she gets settled.”
Joon-lee let go of me, bowed to me and the rest of the family, and then climbed the steps. The driver pulled away before she had a chance to sit down. My last glimpse was of her walking down the aisle.
Three days later, Mi-ja and Yo-chan departed on the morning bus. Some said they’d left because Mi-ja couldn’t stand hearing the gossip about her son. One rumor had her joining her husband in Seoul, while another had the entire family moving to America. Others said she was never coming back, using the fact that she’d sold her pigs to the butcher as proof. After all, no one could live a civilized life without the three-way cycle of latrine, pigs, and food. A few people pointed out that if she were never coming back, then she would have tried to sell her aunt and uncle’s house, sleeping mats, chests, and cooking utensils. None of the gossip made sense to me.
For the first time in many years, I walked to the Sut-dong part of Hado, where Mi-ja had lived. I opened her gate and entered. The courtyard was tidy, and the straw roof was well kept. A stack of empty earthenware jars filled a corner. The granary, where Mi-ja had slept when she was a girl, was empty. A vine with magenta flowers creeped along a wall. Cucumbers, carrots, and other vegetables flourished in a patch next to the kitchen. The door was unlocked, and I walked in. It was just as people had said. She’d left all her furniture in place. Mi-ja may not have been here, but her spirit infused everything. Idly, I opened a chest in the main room. Inside, I found her father’s book. I couldn’t believe she’d left it behind.
Weeks, then months, went by. Mi-ja and Yo-chan did not return. The house remained unlocked. Nothing was stolen. Perhaps people were following the aphorism that we have no robbers on Jeju. Or maybe they were afraid they might find me, because I went there every day. I found I missed glimpsing Mi-ja from afar. I missed having her to blame. When that missing grew too strong, I walked to her house, where I touched her things and sensed her all around me. The house became the scab I could not stop picking.
Day 4 (continued): 2008
“I’m fine,” Young-sook confesses, although she can’t imagine why she does to Mi-ja’s great-granddaughter, of all people. “It’s just hard to be here.”
Clara thinks that over. Then, “Have you been inside the museum yet? Don’t go.” She pauses for a moment before adding, “I mean, I just learned that our plane landed on a mass grave. A lot of the bodies have been dug up and reburied, but still. How gross is that?”
Clara is a nuisance. No doubt about it. But Young-sook feels compelled to caution her. “You may be a foreigner, but be careful in what you say. These are still dangerous times, perhaps even the most dangerous.”
Clara cocks her head and pulls out an earbud. “What?”
“Never mind. I should get back to my family,” Young-sook says.
“Why? So you can see all the names of the dead? Or what’s inside the museum? I’m telling you. Don’t do it.”
Nevertheless.